


i was twenty five (when i met you)

by ShatteredPrism



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Optometry AU, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Chris is an optometrist hahhaha do you know how much I am looking forward to writing him in, College Student Yuuri, Eventual Smut, Eyewear Consultant Viktor, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Makkachin is a girl because reasons, so much fluff you'll cry from the fluffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 18:53:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11319513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredPrism/pseuds/ShatteredPrism
Summary: “Can you tell me again how you fell in love with me?”Victor’s heart jumps in his chest and burns tender, warm and full of love. “Of course, my love.” he says, voice soft like a lullaby, and he presses a soft kiss to Yuuri’s temple in a way that makes him cling tighter to Victor’s shirt.“Let’s see…” Victor tucks Yuuri back under his jaw and rubs warmth into his skin, feels the goosebumps disappear under his fingers. Yuuri shifts, curls more into Victor’s chest, and Victor gently scratches his fingers through Yuuri’s dark hair. His heart swells at Yuuri’s contented hum and, right then, everything is perfect in their little world.“When I was twenty-five,” Victor starts, and he smiles when he feels Yuuri’s cheeks pull up with a smile of his own, “I sold lenses for a living.”Or, Victor is a lonely optician and an uninspired pianist (though he’s loathe to admit it). He’s desperate for something to fill the ache in his chest and bring light to his world.That something ends up being a someone.





	i was twenty five (when i met you)

_"When I was twenty-five," Victor starts, and he smiles when he feels Yuuri's cheeks pull up with a smile of his own, "I sold lenses for a living."_

 

* * *

 

Viktor takes a bus to work every day.

It's part of his routine. Go to work. Sell glasses. Go to the store. Buy a TV dinner. Go home. Walk Makkachin. Go to bed. Repeat. It's an endless cycle. Sometimes he breaks tradition and goes out with the close friends he has, though with work not scheduling right, it makes it hard to do that.

He also takes a bus home, the same twenty five minutes as it is in the morning. He reads a new book every week, plays a little on his keyboard piano when the inspiration hits (and as the months pass, even that dwindles).

(He tells himself he'll play again one day, in front of crowds and fans, playing the kinds of music he once wanted to convey to the world, but who knows when that'll happen again?)

Sunlight shines through the window in a kaleidoscope of reds and yellows and blues, glimmering like a prism of mixing primary colors on the floor of the bus as it ambles through the city streets. Viktor sways in his spot, a book for music theory in his hand as he grips one of the holdings lining the top of the bus for support to keep upright. The bus ambles through a street full of large over-arching trees, and the shadows they cast fall over the bus, gliding over the seats like shadowy figures dancing in the in-betweens.

It's all part of a routine. The only thing that changes is the weather.

The bus rolls to a stop a few minutes later and Viktor gets off, nose still deep in his book. Wind whistles through the trees and the leaves rustle a tune as he walks down the sun-dappled sidewalk, takes a right at the corner of the block.

He shuts his music theory book when he approaches his building and enters the lobby. Up and up he goes until he steps out onto his floor. The moment his key touches the lock, claws paw on the other side of the door and Viktor's face breaks out into a small smile as he opens the door and with an excited bark Makkachin jumps on his legs, her tail wagging hard and fast behind her.

"Hi there, sweet girl." Viktor laughs as he rubs her curly head. Makkachin licks his hand and jumps off, runs off further into the flat and around the sofa before racing back full speed to her owner with more loud barks and she jumps, pawing at his chest.

Viktor laughs louder and helps work her to the floor, rubs her until she's rolling on the floor and showing her belly. "Are you ready to eat?"

Makkachin barks and runs for the kitchen the moment she squirms to her feet. Viktor shrugs off his sweater and hangs it on the coat rack while a shrill sound echoes from the kitchen, where Makkachin is - no doubt - pushing her bowl around the floor and to the pantry.

When Makkachin's snuffing through her bowl, Viktor grabs a tv dinner from the fridge and heats it up in the microwave. He watches it go around once, twice, until he loses track of how many spins it takes and then the microwave's beeping. It's a quick minute to set up one spot on the dining table with a glass of red wine and napkins, and an even quicker minute to take out the tv dinner and set it up on the plate he'd laid out.

It's a quick meal. Makkachin's snoozing on the floor rug when Viktor's done and he drops his finished food in the trash. He cleans the knife and his glass in the sink, puts them back nice and straight where they belong.

The silence is palpable, now. Tangible. A feeling in his chest wraps around him like a lover, keeping him in its cold embrace as the silence presses in, thick like cotton. Viktor grips the counter, knuckles turning white, and after a while he releases a deep, resigned sigh. He turns around, leans against the counter for support, as he takes in the living room - and the object contained within.

The apartment is cold and dark, save for the booklight clipped on the stack of papers on the piano. It's shining on the notes and is otherwise a beacon in the darkness, a single point of light that draws in the shadows and leaves faint echoes of warmth in the space it inhabits. But that's all it is; faint echoes of heat that weren't even there to begin with, imprinted in the worn pages of the composition that sits open and forlorn and unused.

Viktor can't help but stare at it. He's now at the piano bench, hands in his lap, with a coldness in his bones and eyes so tired they could fall shut without any warning. The bench is hard and cold and it creaks under him with every slight shift he makes. It's uncomfortable, and it feels like Viktor's been sitting there for so long he can barely feel his ass anymore, but he doesn't care.

That's the thing, he thinks as he raises hands, hovers over the keys. He wants to care. But he can't.

Viktor's lips press together. 

He's been staring at the papers for what feels like hours, now. The composition looks like parchment, it's so yellowed and stained. He used to play it all the time. The middles are even crinkled where he'd folded them in a hurry, once. Where there once had been light and warmth, there was now...

Viktor pulls down the door that hides the keys from sight and sits back on the bench.

He remembers a time when it was so, so easy to play without a care in the world, when the music sang through his bones and filled an empty room with sound, when he didn't hesitate in front of a piano and instead embraced it like an old friend. But it's been years since then, and now he's... he's whatever this is. And he doesn't care.

A wet nose snuffles at his palm. Viktor jerks, but when he realizes who it is he smiles softly and reaches back to scratch Makkachin behind the ears, earning a soft thumping against the carpet from her tail. "I'm sorry, Makka." he murmurs, swinging his legs over the bench as he turns to reach her better. "I was off in my head again. Do you want to go for a walk?"

Makkachin barks, and Viktor feels the emptiness draw back into the depths of his chest, hidden behind walls of ice. There's a heartbeat of warmth that flickers in his chest, there for just an instant before it disappears when her tongue lolls out in her excitement. Viktor smiles more and pushes himself up to stand, making Makkachin bark excitedly and run around his legs.

"Sweet girl." Viktor kneels down and kneads into her curly fur, earning a happy lick from the poodle. He grins and rubs her head before he opens the hallway closet for her leash. Makkachin paws at his leg, butts her head into his thigh.

"I know, I know." he laughs and clips her leash to her collar. They go out into the night, Viktor with a light sweater around his waist, and Makkachin drags him through the city streets.

It's a quiet night in the middle of Detroit summer, a warm July evening with partly-cloudy skies and trees green with leaves. Makkachin sniffs at a lightpost, one paw on the sidewalk and the other in the summer grass. Viktor stares up at the sky. He can't see the stars but he does see the blinking lights of a passing airplane between the clouds, and Viktor figures it's close enough this deep in the city.

Viktor makes a quick stop at the coffee shop at the corner before they continue on. As it's a weeknight, the streets in this particular area aren't busy, and Viktor passes only a handful of people while Makkachin does her business in the grass lining the sidewalk. They stop at a crosswalk and Makkachin sits as they wait for the white pedestrian light to appear.

A warm wind blows through his hair and he inhales the smell of cinnamon from the bakery on the corner. Makkachin looks up at him with a lolling tongue while he takes a sip of the frappe in his hand and gazes around his surroundings.

There's a closed music shop across the street, and in the faint light from a faraway lamppost Viktor can see a couple burst into giggles, hiding smiles behind hands as they stare starry-eyed at each other, alone and happy in their own little world. The woman brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, looks up shyly at her boyfriend, who grins at her with a sparkle in his eye and leans in, parts his mouth, and behind the couple the store looms like a ghost, a _shadow_ -

The moment the pedestrian light flickers on Viktor rushes across the street. Makkachin keeps pace easily, even boofs at him when she trots ahead of his quick pace with her tail wagging happily behind her. Victor slows only when he's put enough space between himself and... that. All of that.

He takes a shaky sip of his frappe and curls his trembling hand around Makkachin's leash, finding some solace in the way it grounds him to the present. He can still feel the shadow at his back but the further he walks away, the better he feels until the presence is gone altogether and he can finally, finally breathe a sigh of relief. Of course, there's still the piano at home, but that one isn't as terrifying. He knows he'll get back to that one someday, maybe. Hopefully.

His grip tightens on his cup.

The night is getting darker now, and there are less people on the street than before. There's something about the solitude that resounds in him and it makes him clutch the leash just a little tighter than before. He's a different kind of cold all of a sudden. The emptiness surges in his chest and Victor can't help but rub where it hurts the most, the ache both familiar and haunting after years and years of feeling this way.

"Why am I like this?" he murmurs under his breath. Makkachin looks up from her sniffing to gaze at Viktor right in the eye with a panting tongue. Viktor gazes back, feeling better yet not at all at the same time. He thinks back on the couple earlier, feels something in his chest stir. It's not a good feeling.

"We should head back, Makka." Viktor gestures toward home and gives the leash a light tug. "Come on, girl." Makkachin follows happily, barking at him as she trots forward again and wags her tail, and Viktor coos, "Such a good girl."

They're back at the crosswalk. The stoplights have just finished a round so they'll have to wait a few minutes before they can cross again. Viktor doesn't really mind; if he needs an excuse to find time to push these feelings back down, this is it.

When he looks around this time, his eyes catch on the bright light emanating from the dance studio across the street. A huge window gives a view inside, and after the initial brightness Viktor can clearly see two people moving around inside. One is an older woman in the middle of a pirouette. The other...

The breath Viktor held in his lungs escapes in one swift whoosh.

The other person is a man with a lithe build and a body so graceful it could very well slice through water. He follows the other woman into a jump with legs spread wide and they land together with barely a quiver in their legs, and, oh, does that man have thick legs. Victor's jaw drops when the man pushes into a spin and glides across the floor right into another jump. He kicks out his feet and lands without qualm, goes right into another leap.

Viktor feels it then, bubbling right under his skin. He can hear the notes that would accompany such a dance flittering about in his head, can even feel the weight of the keys pressing against his fingertips as he plays the verse that would fit perfectly with the way the man moves. The man jumps, the keys make lighter notes; the man dances a complicated foot pattern, the keys play a quicker and playful tempo. The urge to play burns his fingertips and he inhales sharply, eyes wide and pupils blown. It's utterly foreign and familiar, all at once, and all because of this man.

Viktor gasps, steps forward, and - feels a tug on his hand.

Viktor looks. Where there's supposed to be a dog leash is, in fact, nothing at all, and Makkachin is running down the street in chase of a low-flying bird.

"Makkachin!" Viktor cries, scrambling across the now-flickering pedestrian signal after his dog.

Makkachin barks at the bird, stands up on two paws in an attempt to get closer to where the bird now sits on a telephone pole. But then it flits away and Makkachin gives chase with another excited bark, muzzle up high to keep her eye on the prize.

"Makkachin!" Viktor calls firmly, eyes deadset on his usually well-behaved poodle, whom, right now, was not acting quite-so well-behaved. Of _course_ it would be this way, Viktor thinks with a scowl, the first few notes of music on repeat in his head. Of course Makka would get distracted the moment he was distracted. Yakov would say this was why they made such a great match.

He finally reaches her when she stops at a lamppost and he jumps onto the leash before she can move again. "Makka, no! You know better than that!" He bends down for the leash and this time grips it tight, and he turns to her with a pout and his hands on his hips. "You scared me!" Viktor cups the poodle's head and makes her look at him. "Don't do that again, okay?"

Makkachin's answer is a face full of slobbery tongue, and Viktor laughs, laughs out of desperation and giddiness and amusement. A strange combination, sure, but it's what he feels with the music playing in his head -

Viktor draws his hands up to his mouth with a gasp. The dancer!

Viktor runs back in the direction of the studio with Makkachin hot on his heels. She's barking wildly and full of enthusiasm, keeping pace with Viktor all too easily with her fluffy tail wagging behind her, and it takes whatever's left of Viktor's concentration to focus on not falling over her since she's so close. The rest of his focus is on the beginning notes of a song begging to be played and the pretty dancer who'd inspired that very music bouncing around in his head. If Viktor could catch him, then maybe he could ask to sit in on another dancing session, try to hash out another stanza or two before time ended.

He turns the corner and rushes down the sidewalk. He was going to compose so many things and write even more and -

"No!" Viktor cries as he slides to a stop and gapes at the now darkened building.

Only the front door light is on, and it's shining light on the "NO SOLICITING" sign right beside the doorknob.

The studio is closed.

He peers into the darkened window in hopes of maybe, _maybe_ seeing that dancer again, but it's pitch black inside and there isn't even the slightest bit of movement within. 

"No!" he whines again, turns to Makkachin with a pout. "Makka, he's gone!"

Makkachin just pants, boofs at him with her tail wagging happily behind her.

"You're right," he says, "He'll be back!" He looks down at her, a rare and bright heart-shaped smile growing on his mouth, and his eyes crinkle in his delight. "Maybe we can watch him dance?"

Makkachin boofs again and bumps Viktor's thigh. Viktor's smile only grows and he holds her leash tight. "You're right!" he says excitedly, crouching down to her level to scratch her ears. "We should come back tomorrow! It's brilliant! Come Makka!" he pushes himself into a stride, looks back at his poodle, who trots up beside him. The music plays and plays and plays in his head and warmth blossoms in his chest for the briefest moment before it falls back into a tiny, nondescript thrum, but it's there. _It's there_. And Viktor's never been happier.

"We'll come back tomorrow, and we'll ask to watch." Viktor chatters excitedly as they make the trek back home, "It'll be great!"

When they get home, Viktor sits at the cold bench and ignores the way his body aches when he pushes up the door, and the keys span before him like a welcome mat. His fingers hover, tremble, but when the first note rings, the chord sings in the emptiness in his chest and in that moment his world is bright and he laughs, _laughs_ as he plays the next few, over and over and over again, well into the night.

The next night, an eager Viktor takes Makkachin back to the studio. He meets with a woman named Minako, the owner of the establishment. She used to be a prima ballerina, he finds out. Now she teaches all levels of ballet with two other instructors to dozens of children in the city. The man she was dancing with isn't there that night, but that doesn't discourage Viktor.

"I happened to pass by last night," Viktor says, "and I saw you and another man dancing. Will he be back? It was really inspiring! I wanted to tell him in person."

"Oh?" Minako eyes him carefully, studies him long enough that Victor shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. The woman is smaller than him but Viktor's never felt more intimidated.

Minako hums but turns from her stare when a small girl approaches and asks her to help put her hair up. "Well," Minako says finally, and Viktor perks. The older woman runs her fingers through the small girl's hair and pulls it up high on the crown of her head, already twisting it around into a bun. "I'm afraid you came a day too late." Minako ties a rubber band around the girl's hair. "My student's last day was yesterday. He won't be coming back for some time with school starting."

Minako finishes her student's bun and the small girl glides off to a group of friends in the corner. "I'm afraid even I don't know when he'll be coming back."

"That's okay." Viktor already has a smile ready, small and perfect. It comes naturally to him. "Thank you for telling me."

He bids Minako farewell some time later and walks in silence back to his apartment.

He tries, and for a few days succeeds, but in the end Viktor does not play that tune again.

 

* * *

 

HM Vision is a building smack dab in the middle of River Oaks shopping center, situated between a party store and an Office Depot. The shopping center is a highly popular destination for locals in search of fine dining and fine retail service for a (usually) low price, and where they are in the locale, HM Vision readily gets a steady stream of customers for a store that sells prescribed eyeglasses.

It's great for business, and even better for the people who use work to get their mind off of things.

Like Viktor, for example, though he'd never admit it.

He gets off the bus at ten thirty that morning, steps out into the bright summer sunshine and puts on his favorite pair of Gucci sunglasses - which he got for a _very_ nice discount, thank you very much - so he can survey the area without UV rays getting in the way. The bus pulls away and he's left at the curb to breathe in freshly mowed grass and morning sunlight, the River Oaks shopping center opening up before him like a river delta leading into the sea.

Into the sea he goes, humming an old tune under his breath as he climbs up the slight hill by the bus stop, grass crunching under his feet with every step. The summer heat teases his skin, warms it up under the light long-sleeve he wore, and as he crosses the street in the shopping center it burns into his back like a physical entity pushing into him without a care or regard in the world. The moment he steps under the sidewalk awning, the blaring presence dissipates, and Viktor breathes a sign of relief.

It's a short walk to HM Vision's white-brick building down the block, and when he enters he spies Mila at her desk, cleaning a pair of glasses. The smile is out before Viktor even thinks of it, now and forever a natural reflex.

"Good morning!" he calls, startling Mila to attention, but the moment she sees him Mila is upright and holding out her arms for him with a bright, beautiful smile that's so genuine, Viktor's heart aches.

"Viktor!" Mila chirps back, and she embraces him, kisses his cheek as he passes. "Good morning! There's a cup of coffee for you in the back."

"Mila, you spoil me." Viktor winks at her and Mila shoos him off with a giggle.

The break room is clean and empty of personnel when Viktor enters, but that's not entirely new for a morning shift. True to word there's a cup of hot coffee on the countertop near the sink and Viktor praises Mila with a silent, "Mila you goddess" before downing the first sip.

He hums that tune from before as he puts his belongings away, a somber tune that he's grown fond of since his college days, and returns to the front with coffee in hand and phone in his pocket.

The store is quiet this morning. There's only one customer browsing through the shelves of glasses they have in stock, and when Viktor quirks an eyebrow at Mila about it, she just shrugs and flicks her wrist. He takes a seat at his own assigned desk for the day and uses the computer to clock in.

"We got a new shipment of glasses yesterday." Mila reports, this time cleaning a new pair of lenses. "Leo and I put some up but there's still another box to go through. I think it's entirely Coach."

"Excellent!" Viktor stands. "We've been expecting a shipment from them. I'll go get started." He heads to the back and returns with a large cardboard box in his arms.

Viktor sets the box in front of the Coach display and takes the first display frames out from their case. They're large, plastic and a bright blue color that's somehow not grating on the eyes. Viktor likes them.

He sets them into an empty spot in the display and starts on the rest. Working in optics as a salesperson isn't the most exciting job in the world, but the pay isn't bad and it helps pass the time. Victor likes selling glasses, likes the technical beauty in the joining of aesthetic and practicality. It helps ease the ache whenever he helps someone get the glasses they want and need.

Mila joins him a few minutes later, leans against the drawers peeking out from under the display. She plucks one of the frames from the box and squirts cleaner on the uncut lenses. "Anya won't be coming in," Mila says as she rubs the cleaning cloth into the lenses, "she got sick this morning."

"Noted." Viktor hums. He takes the now clean pair of frames from Mila's offered hand and puts them up in the case. One of the arms misses the hole it's supposed to go inside and makes the frames fall off-kilter. They're only saved by the nose pads holding the prong they rest on. Victor fixes them quickly. "Anything happen today?"

Mila shakes her head. Viktor figured as much.

"Thank you!" calls the customer, and the bell rings behind him as he leaves the store.

"He walked around for thirty minutes." Mila mutters, but there's no bite to her voice. Viktor snorts.

"Anyway, how are you?" Mila's smile is bright, and she prods him with her elbow. "C'mon Viktor, we haven't worked together in a week! So much can happen!"

Viktor does laugh this time, and he grins at her, the corner curling up to reveal shiny white teeth. "Meaning something _did_ happen, hmm? Do tell, Mila. Tell me everything."

"Viktor!" Mila laughs, and there's a life in her eyes that makes a flutter of warmth thrum faintly in his chest. His grin softens, just a little. He likes to see her happy.

"Okay, so," she says as she rests her hand on the display, "I met someone."

"Oh?" Viktor's grin turns sly. "Tell me more."

Mila's beaming now, eyes sparkling as her thoughts drift back into her memories. "I went to the rink with Sara last Thursday," she tells him, vigorously cleaning the lenses, "and the hockey team was playing."

"Oh don't tell me you fell for a hockey player."

"I won't tell you then." Mila's red mouth stretches back into a smile. A devious smile. "He definitely knew how to handle a stick, though."

Viktor chokes on air and Mila cackles. " _Mila_." he gasps, scandalized, and covers his eyes and laughs, too. "Oh Mila, Mila, Mila."

Mila grins, impish and full of delight, and Viktor waggles his eyebrows at her, a suggestive grin tugging at his own mouth. "I hope it was protected."

"Of course!"

The door opens with a jingle and Mila winks at him as she sets the frames she'd been cleaning down on the bottom of the display case. "Hello!" she chirps, pushing off from the case to greet the customer. "Welcome to HM Vision!"

Viktor smiles, sets another frame into the last spot in the case as he listens to Mila chatter about the types of lenses their store carries. The rest of the frames in the box will be going into storage as spares, meant to be replaced when the display one is bought. He hums under his breath as he takes the box into the back, puts it in a corner.

The door jingles again and Viktor hears Mila chirp a greeting to a new customer. "Viktor!" she calls.

"I'm coming!" Victor pats down his slacks and adjusts his tie, runs his fingers through his fringe. It falls over his eye, curls delicately at the tip, and Viktor lets a nice smile turn up his mouth.

"Welcome to HM Vision!" he greets as he emerges from the storage room, adjusting his sleeves with a few flicks of his wrist. A man in the corner near the windows jumps at the sudden greeting and Viktor presses his lips together to keep back a laugh. "Sorry." he says, approaching him with a twitching smile. The man looks at him and Victor can't help but hum appreciatively.

His hair is black, and he's staring at Viktor with impossibly large brown eyes lined with contact lenses and a pink mouth parted in surprise. Viktor's eyes roam over his blue jacket and dark wash jeans, right down to his faded white high-tops and all the way back up to his eyes. The man blushes a soft pink and averts his eyes to the Guess case beside them. Viktor's heart does a strange pitter-patter in his chest.

"It's okay." the man says finally. He has a soft accent, one Victor can't quite place since it's so Americanized, but it makes the hard English consonants softer than they usually are and Victor already wants to hear more. The man smiles, laughs nervously as he rubs the back of his neck. "I get lost in my head easily. I should have been paying attention."

"I should have announced myself differently. Let me try again." Viktor bends to the side, tries to catch those brown eyes again. He smiles when the man flicks his gaze to him.

"Hello," Viktor greets with a smooth purr, voice already a lower octave than usual, "welcome to HM Vision. How may I help you today?"

The man's blush darkens to a plum magenta and he looks back at the case. Viktor grins, satisfied. "Better?"

"Well I didn't jump this time, so I guess so." The man's mouth pulls into a soft, almost shy smile. He's still not looking at him, but Viktor considers it a victory anyway, especially when the sunshine brightens and makes the man dazzle.

"I'm Viktor." he says, delighted when the other man's blush only brightens. It curls down the apples of his cheeks and dots over his nose and, wow, he's pretty. He's so pretty. Classically beautiful in the softest of ways. And when he looks at Viktor through his thick eyelashes, Viktor's rooted to the floor and his heart does this tug that leaves him breathless.

Finally, finally he says, "I'm...I'm Yuuri" and, in that moment, it's the most beautiful sound Viktor's ever heard.

"Well Yuuri," Viktor can't help but purr, dragging out the second 'u' and the 'r', "how can I help you today?"

"Oh. Um." Yuuri - Yuuri, Yuuri, _Yuuri_ \- shifts, rubs his hands together and smiles, embarrassed. "I need new glasses. I accidentally broke my other pair."

"You came to the right place." Viktor says with a warm smile. "Are you interested in sunglasses, too?"

"Oh!" Yuuri goes wide eyed and shakes his head, his hands. It's cute, Viktor thinks. Adorable. Perfect. "No, no I'm not. Just a regular pair of eyeglasses is all I want."

"All right." Viktor replies, amused. "What features do you prefer for your glasses? Metal? Plastic?"

A cloud rolls past and its shadow drapes over Yuuri through the window, hiding the kaleidoscope of color in his eyes. Viktor's sad to see it go. "Um." Yuuri presses his pink lips together, looks at the floor in thought, and there's a tick near his eyes that, if Viktor weren't paying close attention, he would have surely missed.

"My...my last pair were metal, with, with nosepads." Yuuri reaches up to touch his face almost unconsciously, as if he were meaning to push up frames that aren't there. He quickly drops his hand, puts them into his jacket pockets, when he realizes.

It's cute. Viktor's heart does flips.

"So anything like that, I guess. No plastic." Yuuri scrunches his shoulders, looks back at Viktor with a soft tug of his lip under his teeth. The cloud passes and the light returns, igniting Yuuri in a white halo of sunlight.

"Okay." Viktor breathes, a soft exhale of a word that could've easily just been him losing his breath from the sight. "Right this way."

He takes Yuuri over to Brooks Brothers first, as it's the closest display. "Plastic frames are popular nowadays, I'm afraid, so the selection for metal is limited." Viktor says as Yuuri leans forward and squints at the selection, "Brooks Brothers, though, has a wider selection of what you're looking for."

Yuuri brushes his bangs from his eyes and takes a pair of round, silver frames from the display, still squinting as he unfolds the arms and slides on the frames. Viktor holds back a smile.

"I like the way this looks," Yuuri says after he's done peering at himself in the mirror, "but... there's something..."

"It's the way the frames are shaped; they are too straight for your face at the top right here." Viktor runs his fingertips just under his eyebrows to show Yuuri what he meant. "I think you may need something that arches."

"Oh, okay." The glasses snag on Yuuri's ear when he tries to pull them off and a bright blush fills his cheeks as he pries it off. Viktor chuckles warm and soft, his heart doing a strange thump in his chest that he wasn't all that familiar with.

"It happens to everyone." Viktor says with a smile, trying to ease him, and he hands Yuuri another pair that he thinks will look better on him. It's a muted blue, dark and deep like the ocean at night, but the color of the frame doesn't matter. You could get a frame in any color, really. What mattered was how it looked.

Yuuri slides them on and blinks at himself in the mirror.

"It's not sitting right on your nose." Viktor reaches out, but hesitates. "I know this may be forward but, may I?"

A soft blush returns to Yuuri's cheeks but he nods, and slowly Viktor closes the distance to adjust the way the frames sit on his nose. Everything happens in slow motion, the way Yuuri's eyes widen with Viktor's fingers so close to his face, how his pink lips part in surprise, and the slow, flushing burn that creeps over Viktor's forearms and up his biceps as their eyes meet and the glasses shift over Yuuri's face.

Viktor can't help it; his face burns with those big eyes on him and he pulls away, perhaps a little too quickly but fuck it, Yuuri's cute and it's making something come alive in him. Like a flicker of something old and familiar that spurs like a sputtering flame grasping for life.

"Well," he says finally, rolling his fingers in and out of his palms as he forces a laugh, "they look better, but I don't think the shape of the lenses suits your face. It makes your face look wide."

"Oh." Yuuri blinks, looks down at his converse and toes the floor. "What would you say would look best, then?" He asks as he looks back at him through his long eyelashes.

Viktor swallows thickly, rubs his hand over his pressed collared shirt. "Hm. I'd have to recommend a square shape for you. It'll really help shape your face and not make it look quite as big."

Viktor looks over the case, completely missing the way Yuuri deflates. He plucks two frames from the case and holds them out for Yuuri to see, smile bright and wide. "Try these!"

Yuuri doesn't look Viktor in the eye as he takes the frames from his hands. He takes off the pair he's wearing and sets them on the counter in front of the case before he slides on one of the ones in his hand. It's green, and while Viktor likes it, Yuuri takes one look at them and shakes his head. "No, not these." He takes them off, puts them back on the shelf. Viktor can tell by the way Yuuri's looking at the case that this brand in particular doesn't have anything that appeals to him.

"Hmm..." Viktor taps his lip, hand on his hip as he surveys the store for their next target. "Perhaps another selection, then?"

They go over to another display, this time on the far end of the store, and Viktor takes one quick look at the selection before plucking out two different pairs of frames. Yuuri takes them from him, his fingertips brushing Viktor's palm in a way that makes him all the more hyperaware of Yuuri's presence. He loses his breath for a quick minute as the hairs on his arm stand on end, an electric pulse beating through every nerve in his skin.

Yuuri's trying on a pair when Viktor finally manages to collect himself. "So," Viktor asks, putting on a charming smile, "what is it that you do, Yuuri?"

Yuuri jerks stock straight, as if surprised Viktor even asked. A light blush blooms over his cheeks and his hands fidget in front of him, turning over and over each other. "Well... that's, that's a little complicated..."

"I like complicated."

Yuuri's blush burns darker. The frames he has on slip down his nose and Viktor's fingers twitch with the urge to push them back up.

"I'm a student," he says finally, his voice soft, as he reaches up to take off the frames, "at...at the university here. But I also help at my parents' restaurant when I have the time." He folds the arms down, but then pulls them back out and sets them where Viktor had gotten them from the case.

Viktor smiles, and it's easy. Strangely easy. "Oh? Which restaurant?"

The blush spreads over his ears and his eyes are wide, as if he expected Viktor to say something completely different. "Yu-topia. It's, It's a Japanese cuisine restaurant on 5th and Anderson."

Yu-topia. Viktor commits it to memory. He'll have to go there.

Yuuri looks like he wants to add something, judging by the way his mouth is open just a heartbeat too long, but he shuts his mouth and darts his eyes away - and it's when his eyes land on another case that Viktor knows he's seen something he likes.

His eyes are wide, sparkling with familiarity, staring at the Armani Exchange case with a look Viktor's seen too many times on other customers when they see a pair they really love.

Viktor steps in close and, leaning near his shoulder, purrs, "See something you like?"

Yuuri jumps nearly three feet in the air and skitters forward with a squeal. Nervous, flustered laughter bubbles from his throat and he looks anywhere but Viktor, shaking hand carding through his hair. "Y-Yeah! Yeah, I do-" Yuuri's pupils blow wide and he laughs louder, shakes his hands in front of him, and it sounds so fake but it's somehow so endearing at the same time, "I mean the glasses! I see some glasses I like!"

Viktor blinks once, twice. A smile stretches, blooms, grows - and he has to cover his mouth before the laugh escapes, has to turn around some to hide the grin. Yuuri is so... _surprising_. Playful, shy, flustered... what's next?

Yuuri's at the case, holding the frames he was looking at when Viktor finally joins him, and Yuuri does whatever he can to not look Viktor in the eye. This close, Viktor can smell vanilla and jasmine from Yuuri's hair and feel the heat radiating from his body, hear his slight intake of breath when he notices Viktor is right behind him.

Yuuri flushes at Viktor's following chuckle and puts the first pair back before he pulls out another, and Viktor watches Yuuri put it on. He can't help but admire the way his jaw sharpens when he tilts his head to the side (coincidentally, baring his neck in the process, and wow does Viktor love the long line of his throat).

"I..." Yuuri turns his head the other way, keeps his eyes pinned on his reflection in the mirror. Then they move, and brown meet blue like a rope pulling taut, freezing Viktor in place.

"What do you think?" Yuuri asks, the corner of his lip pulling upright, and Viktor swallows thickly. Something's changed from the Yuuri Viktor spoke to not even a minute before, but Viktor can't quite put his finger on it.

_So full of surprises_ , Viktor thinks.

"It looks good," he says, and he means it. The frames are blue and half-rimmed, the lenses square. It really brings out Yuuri's already big eyes as though it were the contrast between the sky and the earth, a horizon of vivid colors.

"Just good?" Yuuri turns, looks at Viktor with those eyes and Viktor's sure they have the power to drop him to his knees if Yuuri so desired. They're dark, sharp with interest, and capable of swaying an army.

Viktor's shaky and breathless but he hides it behind a charming smile. "Beautiful." Viktor replies, returning the look with fervor. "Just like you."

"Oh." Yuuri breathes, cheeks red. Just like that, the shy Yuuri is back and Viktor is even more enamored. "Thank you." He takes off the glasses, focusing on them entirely. He opens his mouth, and Viktor expects a line, a compliment, something to flirt with, but instead he gets, "I'll take these." Nothing. Yuuri's nonchalant. Oblivious.

Viktor's heart shoots to the floor and he stares at him, vision cracked and open. The wind outside whistles, blows through the trees, in the silence of the store. Yuuri tilts his head at him.

"Okay." he says finally. Viktor tries to grab his heart from the deep recesses of the earth and piece together his cracked awareness as he takes Yuuri to a desk near the other wall.

"Please, sit." Viktor gestures at the seat across from Viktor's, and they both take a seat - and they both so happen to pull their chairs close to the table. It's not lost on Viktor how close they are.

"Okay Yuuri, this is just standard client information that I have to ask for so we can put you in our system." Viktor taps away on his keyboard, pulling up new client information. He glances at Yuuri, sees him smiling at the frames in his hand, and Viktor gets a rush at how soft he looks. Yuuri is so interesting, so faceted.

"Your name?"

"Yuuri Katsuki."

"Yuuri Katsuki." Viktor repeats, tastes it on his tongue as he types it into the computer. Needless to say, he commits it to memory. "And your address?"

Yuuri lists it off, his accent rolling the letters, and Viktor debates asking again just to get another chance to hear Yuuri enunciate. It's music to his ears, soft and lyrical and full of promise the more Viktor listens, the more he types.

He finally gets through standard procedure (he may have asked Yuuri to repeat a word or five once or twice, just to hear him talk) and he inputs the glasses' sku into the computer.

"Do you have your prescription on hand?" Viktor asks as he leans down under the monitor and grabs the pupilometer. It's a large and bulky grey thing that Mila likes to call the Nokia.

"Yeah." Yuuri slides over a sheet with messy scrawl on it, no doubt from the optometrist he'd seen. Viktor sets the pupilometer on the table and takes the prescription in hand, and his eyes widen at the prescription. Yuuri... is very blind. Startingly blind. Far-sighted, too, with an astigmatism. 

He folds the paper in half when he finishes inputting it and sets it aside. "Lean forward for me?" he asks as he holds up the pupilometer, the prongs facing Yuuri. Yuuri glances at Viktor as he takes the pupilometer and Viktor can see his adam's apple bob with a swallow as Yuuri brings the device to his eyes, leaning forward so Viktor can get an accurate measurement. Viktor peeps through the hole on the back and adjusts the dials on the top. He checks and double checks because he'll be damned if he sends this cutie home with glasses that don't work for him.

"Done. Let me take that." Viktor takes the pupilometer from him and throws a wink at Yuuri for good measure, and he's rewarded with a flush and Yuuri ducking his chin to hide his smile. Viktor chuckles and taps on the number pad with his long fingers.

When he says the price, he catches a fleeting flash of surprise, eyes wide and pupils blown, but the moment Viktor looks at him Yuuri's back to his shy façade... sort of. There's something swimming in his eyes - worry, maybe? But Yuuri passes over his credit card all the same, and Viktor swipes it through.

"Okay, you're set." Viktor leans forward with a warm smile, propping his chin on his hand as he hands back the card. The receipt prints off and Viktor plucks it without even looking at it, holding it out for Yuuri to take, not once looking away.

"Thank you." Yuuri says, warm and genuine, looking at Viktor through his long eyelashes. It sends a thrill through Viktor's chest. Yuuri takes the receipt and puts both it and the card back in his wallet.

"We'll give you a call when your glasses are ready." Viktor says, and the moment it comes out he regrets it, because that isn't what he wants to say at all.

"Okay, that's, that's great. Thank you very much." Yuuri stands, so of course Viktor stands with him, and it's only natural that they both reach out their hands to shake on it. The moment Yuuri's hand touches his, Viktor's breathless, too aware of his surroundings and the callouses on Yuuri's hand, the lines in his palms, the strength of his hold.

_Oh_. Yuuri is strong. Viktor's suddenly very weak in the knees.

Yuuri offers Viktor one last smile and then their hands fall away, and all that's left of Yuuri is a phantom touch lingering on his skin.

Yuuri steps around the chair, preparing to leave, and Viktor panics - well. He panics as much as he's known to panic, which isn't a lot, but then again he's Viktor Nikiforov, who is known for how extra he can be. Viktor doesn't even deny it; it's true.

"Wait!" he calls, perhaps a little too needy, but to hell with it.

Yuuri waits, blinks at him.

"May I have your number?"

Yuuri tilts his head, blinks. "But don't you already have my number?"

Oblivious, oblivious Yuuri. He can't be doing that on purpose. Viktor's brain threatens to crack again, and he takes a seat. "Oh. Right."

Yuuri turns to go but stops mid-turn, tenses up as if he remembered something. He slowly looks back at Viktor, and there's a deep look in his eyes that has Viktor's blood racing. "So, um, remember me mentioning my parents' restaurant, Yu-topia?"

Viktor nods, curls his fingers over the keyboard. "Yeah?"

"Maybe you should come by sometime."

And the way it's said so blatantly, so nonchalant, punches Viktor in the gut. The surprise of it all, the confidence, the smile that Yuuri throws him when he's heading out into the bright sunshine has him hearing the world as he knows it crack around him, ushering in light and warmth and sound and bringing with it a sneak peek of a new and brighter world.

 

* * *

 

" _And," Viktor continues, "when I was twenty-five, I met you."_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! c: Who else is ready for the rollercoaster of a ride this fic is gonna be?


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